


Made for Walking

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: Community: rounds_of_kink, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-22
Updated: 2010-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ms. Sharma has a habit of wearing boots...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made for Walking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for rounds_of_kinks with the following prompts: bare, clothes fetishization.  
> Thanks to tokenblkgirl for the beta.

He does not have a leather fetish. Nor a clothes or shoes or whatever one, for that matter.

This point being established...

Ms. Sharma has a habit of wearing boots. They are knee high, with solid heels, made out of dark and luxurious leather boots. Boots made for walking and striding, boots made for tasks he'd better not fathom. They give her walk a very special little lilt, brisk and harmonious at the same time, dripping of confidence and a quiet challenge he'd be all too happy to accept. It stirs something inside him.

Maybe it's not only the boots themselves. Maybe it's the small strip of flesh he spots between the top of the boots and the edge of the skirt. An appealing nudity he's not sure he can decipher. Even though he knows better than to check himself, the hollow of her knee seems indecently silky, tender and warm. It might be a dissonance and symbolize a piece of the puzzle Kalinda is for him; or it can mean nothing at all and just be another smokescreen.

_I am knowable – just not to you_. Right.

As though the usual boots weren't enough, today there's the vest, too. It's snuggling fit and, he'd bet his right hand on it, butter soft. He pays attention to _not_ paying extra-attention to her. She'd eat him alive if she noticed something, anything. It's not that he's afraid of her. Retort-wise, he's as razor-tongued as she is, and he's almost sure that she's too classy – or too self-controlled and pleased to be that way – to get physical with him. It's that it would give her a leeway, an upper-hand in their little not-quite-skirmishes. That is the last thing he wants to happen.

On their next case together, she slips inside his car and into the passenger seat wearing a fluffy sweater, dark jeans and black Converses. She barely bothers arching an eyebrow when he sarcastically asks her if she's undercover, and she replies, "How did you guess?"

* *


End file.
